


A House of Cards

by thedevillivesinolives



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-20 04:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevillivesinolives/pseuds/thedevillivesinolives
Summary: A series of loosely connected Hilda Berg x King Dice one-shots and drabbles.Current Chapter: Every time some schmuck took a gamble, it was his soul on the line.





	1. Ante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was only there because she was told she couldn't.

He had been watching her since she walked in.

She was all leg—a gangly little thing—pretty, but nothing he’d pay attention to on a regular day. It was that confident swagger, the sway of her narrow hips, and the cheeky sashay of her red dress high up on her thighs that caught his attention. 

She walked around like she owned the place.

If he were a less observant man he might think nothing of it but he could see the signs of her uncertainty—meandering here and there, only stopping to observe the other patrons, and sneering when said patrons catcalled her. Desperate little cads that they were. She was tense, but she was good at hiding it.

He straightened his bowtie and grinned, _he’d like breaking this one._

She hovered between a roulette table and the bar when he approached her. She noticed him quickly (how could she not?) and whatever reaction he had expected, it certainly wasn’t her eyeing him up and down looking distinctly unimpressed, _stuck-up broad_. She locked eyes with him as he sauntered right on over to her.

“Hey doll, you’re lookin' a little lost,” he was smiling, “Maybe I can help,” it wasn’t a question.

She cocked her hip to the side, her hand resting there. Her other gave him a dismissive wave, “No thanks,” she then flicked her fingers like she was throwing out litter, “Buzz off,” her voice was nasally and under any other circumstance, he might have found it unappealing but in this instance it seemed to give her some semblance of superiority which only piqued his interest. 

And she should probably thank the Devil that he was too intrigued by her to take offense because a patient man, King Dice was not. 

But patient or not, he could play this game.

She turned sharply and was visibly startled when he suddenly hooked an arm around her waist, guiding her to the nearby bar with a sleazy grin, “Come on dollface, let’s you and me get to know each other better,” when she recovered her senses, she responded with an annoyed click of the tongue, but allowed herself to be guided to the bar nonetheless.

He offered her a seat and she took the stool next to it just to spite him.

Of course he ordered for them and the skeletal-bartender was quick to work. When the drinks came King Dice wasn’t surprised to find she wouldn’t touch it.

“Don’t drink?” his voice was _almost_ mocking, “Or don’t take drinks from strangers like a good girl?” he could already tell she was easy to rile up when she huffed at him before grabbing the drink with unnecessary force...Although she still didn’t take even a sip of it.

“Most girls don’t like pushy guys, you know.” 

“Most girls,” he started and in his most deviant voice said, “ _Can’t handle me_ ,” he made a point to reach out and touch her leg.

To his surprise she didn’t instantly swat his hand away and was going to count that as a victory until her eyes turned from the gloved hand on her leg to look him in the eyes, “A few minutes of you would be a bit much,” her lips twitched into the lightest of smiles at that and he pulled his hand back suddenly feeling all pretense of “nice-ness” leave him.

He leaned towards her, his smile turning cruel, “You better be careful dollface, I’m King Dice and nobody messes with me,” she gave him a sidelong glance before smirking. He felt his anger leaving despite himself because, _damn she looked good when she was smiling_ , “Well I’ve never heard of you.”

“Then you must not be from around here,”

She hesitated for only a second, “Well I’m not,” she turned her nose in the air at that.

“Oh? And where are you from?” he resisted the urge to insult her because he found himself genuinely curious.

“Hmm...The other side of Inkwell if you must know,” she titled the glass in her hand in what could almost be seen as a nervous fidget.

The other side...Which could only really mean one thing, “So what’s a countryside girl like you doin' in a place like this?” 

It made sense in hindsight, her clothes weren’t particularly glamorous, though the little red number she was wearing certainly hugged her in all the right places. And she didn’t carry herself in a way that a citygirl would; she seemed unfamiliar with the hustle and bustle of the casino which the nearby city folk were all too used to.

_Someone really should do something about Inkwell Island’s residents gambling problem...Ha!_

She shrugged, “I was told I couldn’t so I did,” 

His grin turned into one of amusement and he barely resisted the urge to bark out laughing, “What a _bad girl_ ,” he vaguely wondered if he should teach her a lesson about coming to Inkwell Hell on a whim.

She could tell her was making fun of her, he wasn’t hiding it, and threw him a haughty look, giving him the same dismissive stare when he first approached her, “I could show you bad _Mister_ King Dice,”

Something about the way she said that lit a fire in him, “I bet ya' could, dollface.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Then what should I call you, _dollface_?”

She looked him dead in the eyes before giving a smug (dare he even say coy) smile, “Hilda Berg and don’t forget it,” and with that she snatched her otherwise untouched drink from the table and drank it down with one audible gulp. She stood up and before he could say anything she was already walking away. 

He watched her march off towards the exit, admiring her legs, among other parts, from this angle.

He then, in his best imitation perhaps, took his own drink and chugged it down before tossing the glass to the ground with little care. The bartender flinched when it shattered and King Dice stood up, wiping his mouth. He was suddenly feeling all riled up and ready to cause Hell.

He grinned; today was going to be a lucky day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, the ship that no one asked for! Woohoo.


	2. Fourth Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wally Warbles is a klutz and Hilda Berg meets some new faces on her way to Inkwell Hell Casino.

She hurt all over; her muscles ached, her bones were bruised, and an unpleasant tingle shot across her skin. Hilda was certain that she looked as terrible as she felt. She tried to smooth down her hair and dress, even when the muscles in her arms pleaded that she stop. 

She trudged along trying to hide the slight limp with a confident stride...But she was soaking wet head to toe and looked even more defeated and pitiful than if she hadn’t.

Wally Warbles was a chucklehead.

Hilda Berg had half a mind to teach him how to share the skies. The birdbrain obviously didn’t have any right to flight. He had crashed into her, _hard_ , sending both of them tumbling hundreds of feet out of the air and into the ocean. It probably would have been the end of poor Hilda if she had landed on the ground so she’d count her luck there, but he was still a cad. They had both pulled themselves out of the ocean hurting and distressed.

The twit had the audacity to accuse her of not paying attention even though she wasn’t the one who _had her damn head shoved up inside some shoddy bird house._

_Who flew without looking where they were going!?_

Of course, he was fine, and of course she was the only one really injured in their little tussle...but she also hadn’t been about ready to show that to a wimp like him. So she had given him a few choice words before marching off. Her vision had swam and her legs had almost gave out on her but she kept up an even pace until he was out of his sight.

She _sincerely_ hoped he rotted in Hell!

Speaking of which…She should’ve just went home after the crash but found herself walking towards Inkwell Hell Casino instead. She tried to reason that it was closer than Timber Valley (it was), that she couldn’t very well fly in the state she was in (she couldn’t), that she’d rest there for a bit before getting back home (maybe a drink or two to soothe her aching body). It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to see a certain purple-suited dice-headed sleazebag.

Last time she was here, in the valley between the city and Inkwell Hello, she had been flying and had barely paid any mind the empty train tracks below her, except this time she was grounded...And this time the tracks weren’t empty. An old passenger train stretched from one end of the railroad to the other, nestled between the two surrounding mountainsides and blocking her from passing.

She came to a stop just in front of it and let her shoulders slump with a frustrated sigh.

“Don’t...look so...down…lady…”

She looked around as quickly as her broken body allowed her to, “...Hello?” she asked while turning in a full circle trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.

“Hee hee, over here lady!” came another voice.

The lightest of taps touched her shoulder just then and when she looked she nearly jumped out of her skin (but would later be proud that she didn’t show much of any reaction at all) because a blue ghostly figure hovered only inches from her face and Hilda found herself staring into the empty hole of where _an eye should be_.

Hilda stiffly watched as the ghostly figure floated towards the train. It was then that she noticed two _giant heads_ boring down at her from the rooftop of said train, a skeletal conductor stood beside one of the carts...She chose to ignore the haunted figures watching her through the windows with curious eyes.

She was afraid but she didn’t show it and responded to fear the only way she knew how, “What do you want?” came an irritable reply.

“Oooh, tough broad aren’t ya?” sang one of the crooked heads.

“You’re looking pretty close to death,” the skeletal conductor spoke.

“You look...downright…ghastly…” droned the ghost.

“Ghoulish even!” chimed the two heads in unison.

Hilda was not in the mood for this and so she forced a polite smile, “Yes well, may I pass, please? I really am in a hurry.”

They chose to ignore her, “This train is only for the dead, but we could make an exception for you.”

A smile had never left her face so fast. She put her hands on her hips like she knew how to and sneered at them, “Are you going to move out of the way or am I going to have to make you pay?”

“Don’t…be so…eager…to die, lady,” came the dangerous response.

Every bone in her body ached, her muscles hurt, she could feel a headache coming on, she was drenched, miserable, and was sure she looked as awful as she felt...but she was also more than certain that she could take these ghostly goons in a fight.

A crazy grin suddenly split across her face and she cracked her knuckles at them.

_Misguided aggression at its best._

And for a moment they thought that maybe they should have just moved.

...

She walked into the casino with a renewed sense of confidence.

King Dice was quick to notice her and she couldn’t even be bothered to hide how happy she was to see that seedy smile and long predatory stride. He leaned over her looking her up and down with exaggerated concern...He didn’t even try to hide the lecherous stare, “You look terrible,” he finally said.

“I know,” she was smiling despite herself.

He reached into the coat of his purple tux and pulled out (an also purple) rag, handing it to her, “A drink?”

She took the silky cloth in hand, “Yes,” and used it to wipe the sweat and ectoplasm off her face, willfully ignoring the comfort she found in the familiar scent of expensive cologne, cigarette smoke, and whiskey. She didn’t even push his hand away like she ought to have when he pressed it to her lower back and began to lead her to the bar.

And if he was startled or surprised when she cozied herself up against his side as they walked, he didn’t show it.

 _Well_ , she thought, _today wasn’t all bust_.


	3. 5th Street, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little black dress she wore was distracting to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Part 1 of 2]

She walked in with her nose in the air, haughty and proud, and with all the confidence in the world.

He took only one look at her before rousing with intrigue and desire. He was quick to close the distance between them, ambling over with a wolfish prowl. His hand hovered above her hip and he was about to say something indecent when she brushed him off, “I’m not here to talk, I’m here to win,” she didn’t even spare him a glance.

He let her go…And not from any lack of moxie. If he had really wanted to, he’d tell every single one of the hoi polloi to clear the casino _pronto_ so he could have her all to himself. _That_ , however, was not a conversation he wanted to have with the Boss later—why he made all the patrons and staff leaves so he could fool around with a girl.

She sat at a poker table and the cretins hounded her like dogs; they didn’t have the smooth cadence to catch her ear, their words callow and unflattering. She treated them like background noise but it didn’t matter, they were only there for table scraps anyways—to catch a glimpse of the prim beauty sitting beside them.

And that was all they’d get if King Dice had anything to say about it. 

He let her play her game, for a time, and when he finally approached her, the curs were quick to clear out. The Top Dog was here and they scattered like vermin in his much greater presence.

Hilda didn’t notice him and the dealer gave no note that the King was standing there so he took the opportunity to admire her. The small strapless black dress she wore contoured to her figure _very_ nicely. He leaned over her, eyeing the cards in her hand but making a point to look her over once or twice. The dress she wore was too short and showed off too much leg.

His hands came to rest on her shoulders and he grinned when she jumped in her seat. She went to stand but the grip on her shoulders firmly kept her in place.

She looked up at him, her teeth barred into a pretty little sneer, “What do you want?”

“What’s with the getup?” He leered down at her and she wised up quickly, crossing her arms over her chest, shrugging off his touch.

 _A little late to be acting all demure_ , he thought.

“That’s none of your business,”

“Everything in this casino is my business, dollface,” he snapped.

_She really knew how to try his patience with that attitude of hers._

He grabbed the hem of her dress, rubbing the material with a gloved thumb as if to feel the material.

He thought she’d look better in purple.

“Who’re ya' all dolled up for?” He refused to believe she was wearing that for herself. She had proven herself to be an uppity broad that reeled at the slightest bit of unwanted attention, yet here she was flaunting herself like it was _the most normal thing for her do_. 

“No one,” she tried to swat his hand away and he grabbed her wrist.

She could play dumb all she wanted but he wasn’t going to fold.

“If you’re going to lie to me, dollface,” his voice was tinged with the slightest threat, “Then maybe you want to bet on it,” he let go of her wrist and sized her up in a way that he knew threw her into a fit.

She did not take kindly to intimidation and bristled, “So you can cheat?”

“These dice ain't loaded, dollface, but if you’re scared…” 

She cut him off, “And what do I get if I win?”

_She was so easy._

“Whatever you want, baby,”

“Then I want you to get rid of that mustache,” she smirked, probably thinking he wouldn’t take.

_So she was looking to humiliate him then, huh? He really didn’t give her enough credit._

He gave her a smooth smile in turn, taking the seat adjacent from her, winking and said, “Lets play.”

He noted the way her lips twitched into the slightest frown.  
…

Hilda dragged her hands across her face, she looked _worried_.

“Giving up already?” he leaned against the table, feeling a swell of satisfaction at her discomfort.

“I’m going all in,”

He whistled at her, “That’s the spirit.”

_They always came in thinking they were going to win._

The cards were dealt, the round played...And she lost, of course.

She bit her knuckle and stared at the cards on the table, desperate to find _something_ even though the game was already over.

“Ready to come clean?”

She stood up to leave but he was quick to corner her.

He grabbed her hand, “You didn’t strike me as a sore loser,” he absolutely believed she was a sore loser.

She jerked her hand from his grip and gave him a nervous glare, “You cheated!” He did, but that was neither here nor there. Besides, she couldn’t prove it.

“Are you trying to back out, _dollface_?” she tensed, “No one backs out of a deal with the King,” he warned, “We could make a compromise though, and I could have your soul instead,” her eyes widened in panic and he would curse himself later for feeling guilty.

She suddenly averted her eyes and gripped the hem of her dress in a display of submission that he didn’t know her capable of. Her voice was low, her cheeks red, and pride wounded, “You already know why,” she pointed out.

“I want to hear you say it,” he tapped a finger under chin and forced her to look at him. The worry in her eyes sent a shock through his system that he refused to acknowledge.

He found himself wanting to just touch her…In the kind of way a good man did when he was all dizzy over a girl.

King Dice was not a good man.

He was not gentle or caring and he didn’t have it in him to be anything but the ruthless, manipulative, self-serving, seedy casino manager that he was. He was the Devil’s right-hand man and he liked it that way.

And he would later think that, in hindsight, it was better when she sidestepped him, that it was for the best that she practically ran for the exit and didn’t look back.

And in hindsight, he thought, _that maybe he should have stopped her._

But, that was later, and now he was left standing there feeling dissatisfied and _weak_.

It took him a moment to realize people were staring.

He should have threatened _every nosy son-of-a-bitch there_ to mind their own business, but instead, he straightened his suit and carried on with himself like nothing happened.

King Dice didn’t have anytime for regrets or _what-ifs_.

So when she stopped showing up, it didn’t bother him.

The only thing he’d say he regretted was not tricking her out of her soul when he had the chance.

And maybe letting his emotions get the better of him.

_Maybe…_


	4. Flat Top, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was ready to let the chips fall where they may.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Part 2 of 2]

Hilda Berg had been hauled up in the observatory all day cleaning; she was rarely home and the neglect showed.

She had started her day with her horoscope, as was routine, and had been pleased to find that her stars were aligned with fortune. It read that she should be productive and make positive changes in her life, so here she was spring cleaning in the fall. She tackled this undertaking much like she would any other—confident and unrelenting. With a feather duster in hand she took to the task of removing cobwebs from the furniture.

Reaching behind the dresser she saw something tucked into the nook between the wall. Although she couldn’t quite reach it, she used the end of the duster to pull it towards herself.

When she finally managed to snag it from its hole she realized it was a fabric, but didn’t think anything of it until she unfolded it from its crumpled dust-covered state.

Hilda almost cringed at the sight of a familiar black dress…And suddenly remembered the fit she threw only a few months ago that lead her to shoving the offending garment behind the furniture. _Out of sight, out of mind_ , she had thought.

She looked towards the ceiling of her home, resting the dress against her leg in a tight fist. She wondered if she should take it to Cagney Carnation and have him get rid of it for her…But decided against it because it would take more explanation than it would ever be worth.

Her eyes drifted across the room, surveying it carefully…Her home was still a mess…In fact, it was worse off then when she had started; paraphernalia and unused nicknack's were scattered about here and there, the furniture was out of place, and cleaning supplies were discarded where they had last been used. She could feel the motivation to finish leaving her and decided she’d take a break instead.

She refused to look at the dark gown that was being held in her iron grip.

_It had been a dumb idea._

She had never thought that she, the _Threatenin’ Zeppelin_ , would ever make a fool of herself over a man.

She hadn’t been subtle about where she had been deciding to spend her evenings all those months ago; Hilda Berg did not hide, she was much too proud for that. And if she happened to come home smelling like brimstone and expensive cologne, then no one said anything. She wouldn’t have flinched if they asked either but now…

Well, their pity was lost on her in any case.

They probably thought she had been used up and thrown out, even though she was the one who ran away and never looked back…She vaguely wondered if he thought she had lead him on.

She chuckled at that. What would they say if they heard that Little ol’ Hilda Berg played the Devil’s right-hand man? Would they think her a golddigger? Maybe that her chutzpah had taken a wrong turn into crazy, she did have a nasty habit of getting worked up over nothing.

Gosh, what would her mother say? _Nothing she’d want to hear, that was for certain._

She snuck a glance at the dress.

She had been feeling bad about herself, had discovered an insecurity that she hadn’t known existed before, because he had been so dapper, so smug, and so infuriatingly _smooth_. The leagues between them were innumerable. She had liked the attention he had given her and was worried he’d lose interest, so she tried desperately to catch his eye—to stay noticed in his world of fortune and revelry. She wondered if it could have been anyone, if she really was that shallow and vain.

But when she did call his attention, when he rewarded her efforts, she had realized _that wasn’t her_. A sham.

She was starstruck, she thought, and delusional…And she felt the tiniest bit angry at that despite herself.

When she passed the trash, she threw the dress in with abandonment.

“…”

She hurriedly collected the black dress from the waste-bin and went to store it in the back of the closet for later…Much later.

Hilda then marched outside, she had enough of the indoors, the skies were where she belonged anyways.

…

She came at an odd hour, even for her and realized that she must have looked a fool standing at the at casino entrance with a pensive glare. Her hands rested on her hips to give herself the impression of indignation and not the nervous dread that she actually felt.

Everything in her told herself that this was a bad idea.

More so when she walked into the casino, cavalier.

The sun wouldn’t rise for another few hours and most of Inkwell Island’s residences had been long asleep but the casino was in full hop with Hell’s own indwellers; Souls of the damned ambled about, testing their already misplaced luck, the undead entertained and mingled, and beasts satisfied themselves in rotgut at the bar.

_The freaks come out at night._

No one paid her any mind when she sat at the bar and ordered "anything"…Though she may have gotten one odd glance from the bartender.

She leaned against the counter, with her chin in her palm and a bored stare, turning the glass of a drink she had no intention of _actually_ drinking in her hand.

 _What am I doing here?_ She lamented.

She almost hoped that he would show up and act like nothing happened.

“…”

She sat there longer than she should have and when she became certain he wouldn’t show she went to leave, offering her otherwise untouched drink to the hellish beast that had been sitting a chair away. He took it with an unexpected amount of courtesy and gratitude, tired of sinking himself in cheap liquor, no doubt.

She looked through crowds and staff as she took her leave, hoping to catch the tiniest glimpse of lavender.

No dice though.

She pushed through the front doors.

It was cold outside.

Inkwell Hell, she had come to realize on her many visits, was not as temperate or hot as she expected despite the smell of sulfur and ash. She often found it had the coldest of chills without being freezing; perhaps to entice patrons into the warmth of the casino, to guide them down the path of comfortable Sin.

She, however, found more comfort in the cold doldrums than inside the casino.

As she walked down the steps she caught a familiar scent.

There was no reason for her heart to beat in nervous palpitations and no reason for her hands to tremble in the slightest when she caught sight of purple.

He leaned against the wall with a cigarette in his hand (odd, that, because she had never seen him with anything but cigars but the smell was familiar enough that she realized he must have frequented them enough). Hilda almost wondered if he knew she was there when he turned his head to look her straight in the eyes.

She froze for a moment and held her breath.

His hand made the barest of gesture at her, beckoning her over.

He didn’t say anything when he handed her the cigarette and she took it even though she didn’t smoke and never had.

Maybe she was still hellbent on making herself into a spectacle, _all for a guy_ she thought as she took a drag of the cigarette.

She choked.


	5. Double or Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was a being a perfect gentleman...And she didn't like it.

“Why…?” the words came out of her mouth before she even had a chance to think about it.

He was unperturbed, he had probably expected this from her, “We’d look good together.”

She refused to agree or disagree.

“Or are you afraid of your little island friends seeing me with you?”

“No.” _A little._

“Then?”

“I don’t understand,” She wasn’t lying. If he was trying to ground stop her then he was succeeding.

“I only ask, because you were ragging on this place yesterday. I thought maybe you wanted a change of scenery.”

“I don’t hate it,” she did. She really really did. The ceiling was tall, the space wide and open but she still felt caged. She also didn’t drink, smoke, or gamble—she was more of a fight and flight kind of gal—so the appeal was lost on her. King Dice was the only good thing in Inkwell Hell Casino and _honestly_ , that wasn’t saying much.

He smiled that sleazy smile of his, “We could take it to **my** place if—”

She grit her teeth, “Absolutely not,” _Maybe…No no no._

It occurred to Hilda, that he was perhaps just playing a game with her, purposely getting her all dizzy just to strong-arm her.

“You probably think I’m playing you for a cheap laugh,” he looked amused.

“Damn it,” she cursed aloud.

He was grinning, “So that’s a “yes”?”

“Fine.”

“That’s my girl,” he stood up, “Be here at the usual time tomorrow and wear something nice,”

She wanted to tell him that she was _no one’s_ girl, that he shouldn’t be so presumptuous and assume she could just show up whenever he demanded, and that _she always wore something nice the tasteless hack_ , but instead gave him an exaggerated sigh and nod.

He gave her one last look before sauntering away, looking rather pleased with himself.

…

When she arrived, he was already waiting for her at the front steps of Inkwell Hell Casino. 

She swallowed hard, he was downright _debonair_ and she suddenly felt under dressed in the simple red gown she wore. The suit he donned was classier than his usual getup, it was a deep mauve with peaked lapels and fit his form handsomely…It looked expensive. When she caught his eye, he smiled in a way that she didn’t know he could and it left her weak in the knees but she did her best to hide it, approaching him with all the false bravado she could front as nervous hands smoothed down the creases in her dress.

“Shall we?” He held his arm out to her and she took it in her own gingerly. Hilda was finding it hard to speak and gave a too-eager nod—she must have been gawking and she hated herself for the display of weakness. 

She had little time to react when a mischievous glint caught his eye and she found the ground _engulfing_ them. Everything was spinning, her vision went black as a panicked yelp got caught in her throat.

_This is why she hated walking._

“…!!”

When she came to, she was desperately clinging to him—her cheek flush against his chest, hands grabbing purple fabric at awkward angles in a vice grip, and her knees were bent inward as if caught in mid-fall; she was shaking only slightly. His hand rested on her back with uncharacteristic amenity.

“You doing alright there, sweetheart?” King Dice’s voice caught her attention and she peeled herself off of him, fists resting on his sleeves as if she expected the ground to give way at any moment.

“What the _hell_ …?” was all she managed to force out, trying to hide her daze with a furrowed brow.

“Just a little trick I’ve picked up over the years,” he said vaguely.

Her mouth opened to retort but stopped when she heard music. She took a step away from him to look around. They were inside, she thought, even though there was no ceiling as far as she could tell, but no sky either—just an endless, pitch black void above them. A reddish light cast everything in a dark fiery glow, drapery and hellish decor lined the walls in black and crimson. Tables and seating were scattered from one end to the other, all neatly lined with cutlery and tablecloths. 

She registered that they were in a restaurant, _but where in Hell…Oh, of course. Hell._

The realization didn’t exactly bring her comfort.

“Don’t look so nervous, doll,” King Dice suddenly crooned, giving her a reassuring pat on the back.

She shot him a look, “I am not,” she snapped, her tone defensive.

He chuckled at that, “My mistake then,” she huffed and linked her arms with his, leading him to what she thought might be the front desk just to show him that she was ace. He allowed himself to be pulled along, his amusement palpable.

They stepped up to a black veneer podium where a classy (albeit undead) gent stood, diligent.

Hilda let King Dice do all the talking so that she could take the time to look around more closely; The patrons and staff were not entirely unlike those who frequented the casino—specters, beasts, and skeletons—but they presented themselves with a sense of prestige and were much more stately in demeanor. Many of them had an elegance about them…They seemed snobbish.

“This way, please,” the host led them to their table all poised and proper. 

She noticed some of the patrons staring at them as they passed and she had half-a-mind to tell them to look elsewhere or else she’d make them.

Their table was a fair way away from the rest of the clientele in a quiet corner at the back, _thank goodness_ , because she didn’t think she could handle their hoity-toity company for long.

King Dice pulled out a chair for her and she practically threw herself into the seat, arms crossing in front of her while the host gave her a patronizing glance for putting her elbows on the table, but she pointedly ignored him. He left and King Dice took the seat across from her. She stared at the taper, watching the flame flicker and feeling somewhat (very) out of place.

She was brooding.

“What’s got you all hot?” King Dice suddenly asked, noting her obvious distress.

“People were staring,” _Could she even call them people?_

He had the nerve to look proud, “You’re here with the Devil’s right-hand man, what did you expect?” 

_She was, wasn’t she?_

That little bit of information seemed like a stupid thing to forget.

“And here I thought your reputation was skirt chasing and picking on children,” she replied dryly.

He didn’t take the bait, “I just play the hand I’m dealt.” 

“Your game’s rigged,” she shot back.

He smirked, “Most cads don’t know the difference,” Hilda smiled back despite herself.

They soon fell into comfortable conversation and it helped ease her worries.

When the waiter came along, King Dice ordered for them—sure, she was unfamiliar with the upper-crust and all their outlandish foodstuffs but Hilda swore the menu was written in tongues—they ate and then spent much of the rest of the evening talking about nothing in particular.

“…Why does Hell,” she was having a hard time remembering that’s where she was, everything was so prim, “Of all places, have a fancy place like this?” It was so orderly and…Normal, save some oddities. Inkwell Hell Casino was classy enough, not a flophouse by any means, but it had a sort of unruliness to it. No doubt to catch victim’s in a whirlwind pace so that they’d have no time to regret their life choices as they squandered away their hard earned dough.

She expected the rest of Hell to be all brimstone and chaos—debauchery and violence en masse.

“If there were ever a place to show off your class and step on the weak and poor, Hell would be it, baby,” he replied, matter-of-fact.

She leaned her cheek into her hand, “I think,” she looked thoughtful, “I’d prefer the carnival,” and that was saying something because she didn’t much like the carnival either.

“I’d take it or leave it, you can’t get good rye at the carnival,” he held up his wine glass to prove his point. For all the rotgut the casino sold, King Dice often spoke fondly of the whiskey there…She thought it all tasted like garbage personally, but… 

“Or good men,” she mused aloud.

She regretted saying that the moment it came out of her mouth.

“Oh yeah?” he looked _intrigued_.

Her face flushed, “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she said, managing to (mostly) keep her cool.

“Easy there, dollface. I know what you meant,” she didn’t know what to make of his tone and he continued, “I don’t know about “good men” but I can keep you in good company whenever you need it,” she frowned, at a loss. _What was he getting at?_

“Another glass, sir?” they simultaneously turned their attention towards the waiter and his sudden appearance. She could almost swear that King Dice looked miffed and…Frustrated? _Strange…_ She decided not to dwell on it and the night continued on without fanfare, the previous conversation left dead in the water.

They wrapped the evening up shortly after. When they went to leave, she had the horrific realization that they had to leave the way they came in but was proud that she only got a little nauseous on the return trip (the spinning, it was the spinning that got her). Before she knew it, they were at the steps of Inkwell Hell Casino again.

She was uncertain what do, she thought maybe she should kiss him but couldn’t muster the courage. 

He then took her hand in his, turning it over to run a gloved thumb across her knuckles, she locked eyes with him and held her breathe without meaning to. He winked at her before leaning down and kissing the back of her hand, like a proper gentleman, and she was maybe just a little bit disappointed at the chaste display.

“Good night, Hilda,” she liked how her name sounded when he said it.

“…”

_To Hell with it._

If Hilda Berg was anything, it was competitive, so not to be outdone, she suddenly wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug before leaning up and kissing him on the cheek. She pulled away, her hands lingering on his chest. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow—he appeared flustered and she felt a surge of confidence at that, “Good night, Mister King Dice,” she didn’t notice that his hands rose to touch her when she took a step back, giving him a little wave before turning around and bounding off.

She was in the pink, if not abashed, as she made her way home.

Her heart was aflutter and she felt like she was airborne even though she was grounded.

_And it didn’t even bother her when she thought she might be falling for him._

It should have, but she could stand to fall every now and then.


	6. The House Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda Berg reminisces about her first (almost) kiss when she was a child.

Hilda had a particular memory from when she was a small child, that, even in adulthood, brought her great chagrin upon recollection. She thought she was maybe five or six years old when it happened, although she couldn’t quite recall the details; she had been at a nearby playground, _maybe_. Just a young girl in a red (always red) dress who had caught the attention of a neighbor or classmate her own age. He had been a small boy, smaller than herself, albeit she had been a tall girl growing up.

She remembered that he had brown eyes.

The little brown-eyed boy had been watching her from across the playground, as was his routine. She had noticed him before of course, but had largely went on to ignore his presence. One day, however, he mustered up the courage to finally talk to her.

The first words out of his mouth had been, “You’re pretty, can I kiss you?” his voice had cracked. He had been shy and hesitant and even then, Hilda remembered being unimpressed with his fragility.

She wished her response at the time had been to tell the shaky boy to back off or else, but being the inexperienced, and arguably less jaded, child that she was, she had replied with her own quiet, “Okay,” because she had been so flattered to catch the attention of a boy. Either were too young to think of implications and the act itself was innocuous enough.

Needless to say, when the poor boy leaned in to kiss her his eye was unceremoniously stabbed by her pointed nose.

He ran home crying soon after and while embarrassed, young Hilda chose to ignore the whole ordeal and went about her day and continued to play. That was until the brown-eyed boy’s mother had showed up, furious, and demanded to see her own mother who had been sitting on a bench elsewhere.

Reluctantly, young Hilda had lead the boy and his mother to her own guardian—the mother shouted; her _precious_ son had been mercilessly attacked by Hilda…Or so he claimed. When questioned, Hilda had been too embarrassed to explain what _had_ happened and took her punishment for “fighting”. It had been a painful two weeks of chores and staying inside—she hated being locked up.

Nowadays, she fought quite a bit but there wasn’t a whole lot of kissing (none, in fact) in her life.

…

They walked side-by-side down an empty hallway. It was a nice change of pace from the hustle and bustle of the casino lobby and while she would only admit it to herself, Hilda was pleased to have King Dice’s undivided attention in private without onlookers.

She got to see him cut loose, he was much more approachable without staff and clientele watching.

“…Doll, baby,” his voice was smooth and he snaked an arm around her waist, “I can _be_ a gentleman,” they stopped walking and he leaned in, grinning. She gave an exaggerated huff and with a gloved hand, pushed away his, admittedly pleasant, touch.

“I’ll believe it when Hell freezes over.”

“I’ll take that bet, doll,” he said and took a step away from her. She raised an eyebrow at him when he suddenly bowed like a proper gentleman ought to, “Good evening, ma’am,” he sounded every bit the high-class casino manager he was and it was almost strange to her ears how organic those words fell from his mouth given his generally sleazy and belligerent demeanor. King Dice then took her hand in his, kissing the back of it, and smiling up at her with all the charm she knew him capable of, “If I could be so forward, ma’am…I have to say that you’re absolutely stunning this evening,” he winked at her and she covered her smile and blush with a hand, trying her damnedest to look indignant but failing miserably.

“Stop,” she laughed, “You’re too much.”

He stood tall, still holding her hand. When she made no indication that she was going to pull away, he leaned forward looking pleased.

She thought he was going to kiss her.

“Ack!”

Her hands suddenly flew up and she slapped them against his mouth with enough force to make him recoil, pushing his face away from hers with wide eyes.

They stood there is silence, eyes locked. His expression had turned dark and all she could do was look at him, dumbfounded. He slowly raised his hands and grabbed her wrists, calmly removing her hands from the flat surface of his face to reveal a painfully red imprint…He looked ridiculous. He moved her hands to her sides and released them. They hung there limply, and he brought his own gloved hand to rub away the red from his mouth and jaw, “…Do I even ask?” he finally spoke, his tone clipped. He seemed annoyed by her spontaneous act of violence, rightfully so, although she thought he probably shouldn’t be because she doubted this would have been first time a woman slapped him for getting fresh with them.

She pointedly kept that thought to herself.

She swallowed hard, “There was a…fly and I—” he gave her a patronizing stare and she felt a swell of anger and abashment, “What?!” she stomped her foot, hands balling into fists, embarrassment evident.

“It was a kiss, dollface. I wasn’t going to bite you,” She faltered—he said it so easily, like it was the most normal thing to say aloud; all she could do was tense her shoulders and blush.

“Did an ex do you wrong or somethin’? Ain’t got a taste for kissing?” _tactless_ , she thought. She could tell he was trying to get under her skin, the vindictive bastard. She would been more upset but couldn’t quite shake the humiliation from her juvenile insecurities.

“No!” she responded hastily, feeling the need to defend herself even though he didn’t seem to care and was more chafed that she _hit him_ , “I haven’t…” her face scrunched up, “I haven’t done that,” she felt so childish. She refused to break eye contact, biting her lower lip nervously.

She got a sinking feeling when he gave her **a** look, “That ain’t news to me, doll,” he announced.

“That’s not…” she echoed weakly.

He raised an eyebrow at her...She didn’t like that.

“Don’t give me that look! How was—How did—” he cut her off by cupping her chin in his hand.

“Because this gets you all hot and bothered, _for one_ ,” he ran a thumb across her cheek to prove his point.

Her face turned bright red. She glared in response, refusing to push his hand away so as not to prove his point or so she told herself anyways.

“And ya’ get **that** hot little glare on your face when ya’ don’t know what you’re doing,” at that, she reeled. She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, and _maybe_ save some of her wounded pride.

He suddenly leaned down and kissed her on the corner of her mouth, pointed nose be damned.

“...Da…” came her unintelligible reply, all pretense of a fight leaving her.

“ _And_ I’ve seen you just about bite the head off every schmuck who even looks your way,” he leaned forward, hands sliding across her hips while doing so, “ _Which is good cause it means more for me_ ,” he practically growled in her ear.

She was rigid.

He let her go, pulling back to give her a smug look.

She had the thought that, perhaps, he had played her.

However, she wasn’t about ready to let him get too comfortable with his win and grabbed the lapels of his suit, pulling him down to eye level and fixing him a fierce glare, “Kiss me again, you cad,” 

He grinned.

It never felt so good to lose a fight.


	7. Half Dollar Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time some schmuck took a gamble, it was his soul on the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It lives!

The hapless creature cowered before them, unfocused eyes and trembling hands hovered above the roulette table.

“W-wait…” their voice shook.

King Dice stood tall, hands locked behind his back. He stared down his nose, all haughty and cool, with a smirk on his face. The Devil stood just in front of him, looming over the pitiful mongrel who had taken to pleas and begging, “I-I’ll do anything, please…!” they wept. The Devil laughed a cruel and wicked laugh, the wretched soul despaired.

“I-I have a family! I’m—” the Devil coiled an arm around the poor schmuck’s shoulders, serpentine, and grinned, “Ya’ probably shoulda thought about that before selling your soul to the Devil,” a crowd had gathered to watch, some spoke in nervous whispers and others chuckled, delighted in the pathetic display. King Dice stood idle, almost bored at the pomp and circumstance; his Boss jeered and he laughed right alongside him out of habit.

In one swift movement, King Dice held out his fist, soul contract in hand and tapped the poor soul on the head with the parchment, full of mockery and indifference, “A deal is a deal,” he said, signature grin plastered on his face. His Boss seemed pleased and snatched the contract from his hand to, quite literally, rub the hapless creature’s face in it.

_Another soul, another day._

He took a quick glance at the crowd and noted that some of the spectators had begun to meander off, disinterested in the humdrum no doubt, much like the King was.

He caught sight of red from the corner of his eye and realized she’d been watching him. He took a good look at her…Her expression was flat. He couldn’t discern what she must’ve be thinking—pity? Disgust? They held each other’s gaze for a short moment, she then turned and walked away. He brought his attention back to the pitiful spectacle.

He kept smiling even though he suddenly felt cold inside.

…

King Dice was quick to make himself scarce, but not before surreptitiously sniping a bottle of scotch from the bar vitrine. 

He sat outside on one of the red sofas holding an unlit cigar in one hand and bottle, half empty, in the other. He held a listless gaze with the garish fountain in the center of the otherwise vacant courtyard. 

There was nothing unusual in the way he held himself but his mood had turned sour.

King Dice was complacent (resigned) with his lot in life and he had never tried to hide who he was—let alone from her. He was cruel and deceptive, but a pestering thought occasionally crossed his mind and it bothered him more than he’d ever care to admit that she saw him, without airs, for what he was; the Devil’s lapdog.

He thought maybe she got cold feet because she couldn’t be found after the fact. 

So he was mildly surprised when he heard the familiar pitter-patter of her haughty strut.

She approached him with all the confidence in the world and it irked him that he couldn’t find her earlier. She walked over and stopped to stand in front of him, hands on her hips (she didn’t look angry or disappointed like he expected her to) and he pointedly ignored her out of sheer pettiness, taking a long drink from the bottle instead. She clicked her tongue at that, not waiting for an invitation to sit down beside him.

They sat in silence for a moment and when he finally looked at her, she had fixed him with a hard stare, frowning.

“What?” he asked, clipped.

She was quiet, as if choosing her next words carefully, “It’s nice out today,” she finally said and he was annoyed at the mundanity of it. He scoffed, they were in _Hell_...And the weather was drab anyways.

He didn’t care to pussyfoot around and locked eyes with her, “I’m not a good man, doll,” he told her and she stared at him expectantly, “I’m the Devil’s right man and I cheat and steal. I’ll ruin any fink who gets too full of himself, kick em’ while he’s down and laugh about it afterwards,” he wasn’t sure why he was trying to discourage her. Something about his hurt pride—she wasn’t supposed to have seen him at his worst, “The Devil always gets his due and I still have my soul, you get it?”

“…You’re drunk,” she announced.

“Hardly,” he wished. His alcohol tolerance was abnormally high. He was only halfway to tipsy but it miffed King Dice that she thought he couldn’t handle his liquor and went to take another drink just to prove his point, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his own.

“You should stop,” she said.

“It’s a little too late for that, sweetheart,” he shook his hand out of her loose grip, but didn’t go to take another drink.

“I thought you were more fun than this,” he looked at her and she stared him down, challenging him with an obstinacy that he’d begrudgingly come to admire only in her and no one else.

“I think your and my definition of fun are real different,” he was just being argumentative for the sake of it.

She looked at him and he was annoyed that she didn’t take the bait because it meant she knew he was just pouting.

“If I’m bein’ real honest, I don’t like it,” she said, “That was…” her mouth twisted into a frown and her eyes narrowed, “…Well, I just don’t like it,” she said with finality.

He was painfully aware of the worlds between them.

“You didn’t look like you did either,” at that, he stared at her with a raised eyebrow and opened his mouth to retort but she shushed him with a dainty finger raised in his face, “Shut your yap for a second and listen, will you?” her patience had run thin, he could tell.

She looked like she was struggling for words _and she wasn’t exactly eloquent on a good day_ , he thought.

“Don’t strain yourself, doll,”

She ignored him and continued, “I like you plenty though,” she averted her eyes and stared just below his chin, her hands moving to idly play with the lapels of his suit, face burning brighter than the dress she wore, “You can’t scare me off,” she dug up some long-buried sense of sentimentalism inside him and he really wished he could blame it on inebriation.

_This. This is why King Dice never took bets he couldn’t win._

“…”

“You’re one crazy broad,” 

“And you’re a cad,”

He hated caring, he had thought he was long past this, “I’ll ruin your life,”

“I’d like to see you try,” she challenged and something in her eyes made him think that, yeah, he’d probably regret ever messing with her but _maybe_ not for the same reasons she thought.


End file.
